Turn away, Do not look
by Always A Dragon
Summary: "I have known very few happy moments in my life. To these memories I cling most dearly." Elisabeth is an oddity, a danger, the local "witch child". But it is the early 17th century, and to be an oddity is to court death. With her apparent powers growing, her family ignoring her plight and the hangman's noose lurking in the corner, Elisabeth needs both help and answers, right now.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own the Harry Potter Universe**

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**This story is dedicated to Elizabeth Demdike, Elizabeth, James and Alizon Device, Anne Chattox, Anne Redferne, Jane and John Bulcock, Alice Nutter, Katherine Hewitt and Jennet Preston. We will remember you.**

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I have known very few happy moments in my life. To these memories I cling most dearly, as one might to the last scraps of bread when the crops are all spoilt and the hunger has come. The few times in which I have smiled not because I was told to, but rather because I could not help it, were mainly when I was younger and much more ignorant. All my life, I have been viewed as a great oddity, the strange one in my family. This has brought so many hardships on me that would take far too long a time to count.

I must confess, though, that as miserable as my days have been, they could have been worse. I could have been locked away without seeing sunlight for years, rather than months. I could have been given nothing for to eat, rather than the meagre left-overs I often got. Indeed, I could have never been saved from such perilous circumstances I was in before I was whisked away on a much less dangerous adventures. Yes, I could have been off far worse.

As I once overheard my brother's tutor saying, though, I must start at the beginning.

So I shall.

The name I was given is Elisabeth Hartington, and I was born to Richard Hartington and Elinor Hartington in the year 1614. I was neither the first nor the last child of my parents, yet it was clear I was strange from the first few months I was born. Such odd tales emerge every so often, shaking out the dust that has settled upon them. When I was a baby, the maid who would look after me found me lying in the cot. That alone was not strange, yet the fact the cot was rocking when no-one had come to see me for the past hour was. This would happen often, I was told. There were other, less explainable situations as well. Often, when I was small, I would enter the kitchens at night, until the cooks finally had the sense to lock it up until the morning. The keyhole was too high for me to reach, and the key itself hung around the head cook's neck. After the third night of my being locked out, the cooks returned in the morning to find the door open, me sleeping on the tiles and all the best food gone. The door had not been opened, by lockpick or other means, yet there I was.

That was when my parents began to worry.

When -around my fourth birthday- all the animals in the surrounding area flocked towards me for no particular reason, my parents started to speak of a changeling.

I knew of no such matter at the time. I was peacefully oblivious.

It was when I was six that things took a turn for the worse.

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**May, 1620**

My maid brushed my hair as I peered into the mirror. My hair was blonde and very pretty and was to be puffed into the current fashion in hairstyles. I, at the age of six, thought myself compared to some strange sheep. But today was my mother's birthday and I had little to say in the matter. After half an hour later, I made my way downstairs and into the sitting room. I was carrying a small present in a gold-coloured box. My mother was greedy as ever, hurrying me forwards. I curtsied, and to my credit barely wobbled. I had been practising. My mother opened the box, a hungry look in her eyes. She often looked like that, I thought. As if money was something she could eat. Elinor always wanted more money.

My mother thanked me as she opened the lid to reveal a length of shiny pink ribbon. I had bought it at the last market I had been to, down in the village. It had been rather expensive. Grinning, Elinor held the pink ribbon up to her embroidered dress, looping it so it resembled a bow.

"How delightful!" she crooned. "Elisabeth, it is quite lovely, do you not think so?"

I dipped my head.

"Yes, mother."

"You are a kind child." She placed the ribbon back in the box. The sound of footsteps came from behind me.

"There is your brother." Elinor said. I turned around, and there was my seven year old brother, James, in his best blue doublet, carrying a bright blue box. I curtsied to my Mother and started to walk towards the stairs again. As I passed my brother, he whispered to me.

"You look like a sheep."

My eyes narrowed. I knew I did, but a six year old will look past this if they are insulted.

"I do not." I hissed back. If my mother took any notice that two of her children had stopped completely, one with an angry expression on her face, she said nothing. My brother puffed up his cheeks and crossed his eyes.

"Ba-aa-aa." he _was _very good at imitating a sheep, though it only made me more irritated.

"I do _not _ look like a sheep. _You _look like a fish."

"Not all fish are blue. Better to be a fish than a sheep, anyway. Ba-aa-aa. Ba-aa-aa." James grinned. "_Sheep._"

At that moment, I felt very angry, and to this day will never fully understand what happened next.

In the main sitting room, there was a chandelier. When I was little, I liked looking at it, and all the small bits of glass hanging from it. It was an ornate, beautiful thing. A few seconds after James called me sheep, there was a tinkling sound. I looked up at the chandelier refracting the light and suddenly, it dropped. I screamed, as did James, and the chandelier crashed down, exploding. Glass flew everywhere and my mother covered her head as the shards started to fly towards her. It was unnatural, the way the moved, slicing through James's box and my mother's lace collar before dropping down to the floor. Most of the flames from the chandelier candles went out but a few remained and swirled up, up, up.

"STOP!" I yelled, and it was as if I had put a cup over the flames. They went out and all that was left was the destroyed chandelier. My mother stood up slowly, bloodied cuts across her cheeks.

"_You _did this." It was barely a whisper but I heard it. James ran for the stairs but I was rooted in the spot. I shook my head. I had no idea how any of this had happened. "_You _did this!" There were few times I had seen Elinor in a rage. Usually it was over money. Elinor got up with such speed I had barely had time to blink before she was hauling me by my sheep-hair down a corridor, a corridor I knew led to my father's study. The omens were not good. If my relationship with my mother was good, my relationship with my father was much worse than worse.

Elinor slammed open the door and my father looked up, a smile plastered on his face.

"My dear!" he cried, then noticed her expression and me and scowled. Then he noticed the cuts on my mother's face and the shards of glass in her frizzy hair.

"And what has happened here?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Elinor pointed a gnarled, be-ringed finger at me, her face livid. "Her! The chandelier dropped on me, with flames and fire, and _she _caused it! Such witchcraft if ever I saw it! Come to the sitting room and you shall see for yourself!"

"I did not!" I cried indignantly. "James called me a sheep and the chandelier fell." It was so simple. Did my parents not understand that? _I _didn't cause it, I thought to myself, for how could I have caused a chandelier to fall when I hadn't even touched it? Yet Elinor and Richard looked at each other with expressions that did not make me feel remotely happy. What had I done?

"Stay." My father told me, and stay I did, when both the adults had gone and closed the door behind them, locking me in. I wondered whether I would be allowed to look at Richard's work -not that I would understand much- yet I could almost hear him shouting in the back of my mind to not touch anything. A few minutes passed before my parents came back. Their faces were like demons and I imagined their teeth pointed and sharp. They grabbed me and I remember little of the next few minutes. Where my memory next deposits me, I was in a dark room with no window, only a little hatch at the top of the door I was too short to see out of. I could hardly see anything else, anyway.

Being very easily frightened -I was six, after all- I knew not what else to do but to sit down and cry. What had I done to anger my parents so? Surely they did not mean to have me locked up here for much more than a few minutes? Yet they did not come back and I grew afraid that my parents had indeed been replaced by demons.

I am not sure how much time passed before I became aware of the presence of another in -what I now recognised as- my cell. Sometimes it seems to me as if it was hours, at other times it seems mere minutes. Surely it couldn't have been days, for I would have remembered if I had eaten and I knew that at that time I was barely hungry.

Yet it came to me, when I had run out of tears and my fear had all dried up, that there was indeed someone else in my cell.

"Is there anyone there?" I called out, my voice quavering ever-so-slightly.

"I do not know," replied the voice, "whether I truly am here or not."

"You sound as if you are." I said. The voice belonged to an old lady, I thought, and I was rather curious as to who it was.

"I believe that I have been in here for far too long." The old lady sounded as if she was talking more to herself than me.

"You sound old."

"My eyes can see through the darkness as I once saw through the light."

"Do you remember your name?" I asked curiously. Perhaps if I knew her name I could help.

"I believe it to be Alexandra Trelawney." She replied, though she sounded uncertain.

"Oh." I remembered one of my older sisters telling me about a seer called Alexandra Trelawney who had lived in this house once. She had been locked up after she predicted someone's death a hundred years ago. They forgot about her, and no-one ever found her remains when they did remember her. "I think you might be a ghost." I said. The voice said nothing for a very long time and I began to think she had gone away.

"I suppose I must be a ghost." She replied sombrely. She was not gone, after all. "It has certainly been a long time since I first walked in here."

"Are you a seer?" A six-year-old rarely has much empathy for people they have only known for a short time.

"Yes." The seer replied. "I only made a _few_ prophecies, yet they locked me up and forgot me."

"Did they not come back?"

"It seems not." She was silent and I could not think what else to say. "I may still possess such abilities. When one has died, one does not See much... When I was alive, I could See not only into the days that come, but also the one that I was in." Trelawney paused, evidently thinking. "Often, I would see the future of those that I touched. Give me your hand."

I was very much intrigued and held out my hand. Immediately, it felt as though it was encased in ice. I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming, not only from the strange sensation but from the onslaught of images that now filled my vision. I no longer was sitting in my cell, but in my Father's study, where he and my mother were talking furiously.

"A witch child, there can be no uncertainty about it!" My mother yelled hysterically while my father nodded.

The scene switched to one of James, who was examining the broken glass and burn marks in the sitting room.

The visions changed again, to my older sisters whispering together. I believe I must have drawn my hand away then, since the visions ceased. While I could not see her, I could feel Trelawney staring at me through the darkness.

"Why _were _you placed here?" she asked enquiringly.

"My brother said I looked like a sheep."

"That is hardly a reason to place one in a cell."

"The chandelier dropped and shattered when he called me that."

"Ah…" Trelawney said as if that explained a great deal, even though it did not. "A witch child then." Her voice faded away, gone where I knew not.

I shrugged and looked down.

Outside, though I did not know this at the time, a storm of terrible greatness appeared above my manor house on what had previously been a day filled with blue skies. Not one person had an answer as to what had caused such an event. It had materialised within half an hour, so quickly and suddenly that it seemed almost like _magic._

Perhaps it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own the Harry Potter Universe**

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**This chapter is dedicated to Gillis Duncan.**

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**June, 1620**

Despite all notion of time having been taken from me -and with my meals being given sporadically-, I was certain it was a very long time before I was let out. I had grown rather used to the dark and in my last days in there was able to make out the outlines of different objects that sat with me on the cold stone floor. When at last I was let out from the cell, my eyes watered and I cried out in pain, for I was unaccustomed to such brightness. When I came to, my father stood over me, his face devoid of any emotion.

"I have been kind enough to let you out." His voice was like stone. "You shall not do any more _witchcraft-" _He spat the word out before returning to his previous monotonous tone, "again. Am I clear?" I nodded. "Do not make me regret my decision." With that, my father turned around and walked off. I remember standing there, for a very long time, in front of the cell door. I remember turning around and peering into the darkness of the cell.

"Goodbye." I said to Trelawney's ghost, whether she was there or not. I don't remember much else though, except that I must have gone up to my rooms for when I woke that was where I was.

In the morning, everything continued as it had been before the Falling Chandelier. My sisters talked among themselves, James pestered me at every slight opportunity and not one soul spoke of what had happened in the Sitting Room. Not in front of me, at least. Yet I could see it in their faces, their wariness, their paranoia. My mother rarely stayed in the same room alone with me for more than a minute and my sisters talk was now of me. If it was possible -which I would have doubted before all this- my father seemed even colder towards me. My moments of happiness had all dried up and there was no sign of their return for a very long time.

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**August, 1620**

It was around this time that Elinor and Richard would often have people visit them, to negotiate land deals and to climb higher in the social hierarchy. I was eavesdropping on my mother and a man talking, and I was hidden behind a cabinet. It was a trick I had used against James a few too many times for me to feel any guilt. I was six, after all.

Yet this was the first time I had eavesdropped on someone other than James, and I was curious. There had been many rumours floating around recently, including that the strange man was not only in favour with the King, but also had purchased ten albino white peacocks. I was unconcerned with how the man had shot to fame so quickly in the royal courts, but the subject of exotic animals had always intrigued me. And so I stuffed myself in an uncomfortable position between an oak cabinet and the wall, and that was why I was listening on to my Mother's conversation.

"So how fare you, Abraxas?" My mother asked politely, to which the man replied he was quite well, thank you.

"I trust your travels were pleasant."

"Indeed, Elinor. I recently acquired a carriage of very fine make."

"Indeed? Well, I cannot say I am surprised." There was a pause and I held my breath. "Is it true, the rumours of you and the King?"

I frowned angrily. I did not care to listen to such rubbish! Yet I could not move, for fear of my mother's wrath if she discovered me to be eavesdropping. The conversation continued on, moving from kings to the prices of silk recently, Abraxas's share in the Merchant Industry, discussions as to how there had been several storms off the coast recently, and so on. I was tiring rather quickly when something perked my interest.

"On the subject of glass, I must ask you whether I would be permitted to sketch your magnificent chandelier?" Abraxas asked. I could almost hear Elinor shuffling her feet, feeling awkward.

"Alas," she replied sombrely "It cannot be so."

"Why ever not?"

"I am afraid it was destroyed several months ago beyond repair."

"What a pity. I was hoping I would be able to copy your design for my own manor." Abraxas said. "It was exquisite. But tell me, how did such a disastrous thing happen?"

I imagined my mother leaning closer, a knowing look in her eye.

_"__Witchcraft." _She muttered.

There was a very audible pause. I listened closer, careful not to miss any words.

"Witchcraft?"

"Indeed. It was Elisabeth who did such a thing. You have met my daughter?"

"No, I have not."

"All for the best, then. Strange things have always happened when she is near. Once all the animals in the surrounding countryside flocked to her as if she was some strange magnet. Richard believes that she might be a changeling!" Elinor's voice rose in horrified excitement.

"Interesting…" Abraxas said thoughtfully. Then his voice took on a lighter tone. "Perhaps you might have drawings of the chandelier for me to look at?"

"Yes, of course!" Elinor showed him through the doors of the room we were in and their footsteps faded away. When I was quite sure they had gone, I crept from my hiding place and wandered the hallways of my manor, thinking. My parents believed me a witch or a changeling. For some reason that my six-year-old mind could not quite process, I was only faintly disturbed by this.

An hour later I found myself in the long gallery, staring out at the rain streaked window. I always found that rain fascinated me. Being only six, my chin rested on the windowsill. I was so engrossed in watching the water slide down the glass, I didn't notice the footsteps behind me.

"I was told you are Elisabeth Hartington?" a voice said, and I near died from fright. The strange man -Abraxas- stood next to me, staring out at the rain. I bobbed a curtsey and nodded.

"You are the cause of the loss of your parent's chandelier?" He asked, though it seemed to me as more of a statement.

"I do not know." I replied truthfully. Abraxas turned and looked me in the eye.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked. I was getting tired of these questions. Maybe I would ask him if he kept peacocks, but it seemed rather rude at the moment. I shook my head.

"Abraxas Malfoy." Abraxas Malfoy said. "Your parents believe you a witch."

"I'm not one." My nostrils flared and I clenched my hands. "I am _not_ a witch."

For several seconds the only sound was the patter of rain on the windows.

"Of course not." Malfoy said, though even _I _could detect that hint of a smirk, that glimmer of amusement in Malfoy's grey eyes. "But if I were you, I would keep a tight leash on my powers. Be unnoticeable. Keep my head down." He bowed to me and I unclenched my fists. "Farewell, for now. Try not to break another chandelier, Elisabeth."

He turned around and was off. My anger turned to curiosity. How strange. At the time, I never believed myself to have powers. Such a thing never existed! The chandelier had fallen down because it was old, or because of the wind.

I never saw Abraxas Malfoy for many more years. I heard he had fallen out of favour with the king and several of his ships had sunk, and so Elinor and Richard did not invite him over. At the age of six, my only regret was that I never asked him about the peacocks after all.

* * *

**April, 1622**

By the time I was eight, my life had returned to normal. No more strange incidents occurred, a new chandelier had been constructed, and my sisters no longer talked of me. One wind-less day in April, James and I were playing with a tennis ball we had found in a gutter. It was scratched and torn, with more than a few strands of dog hair poking through at spots.

We had both been rather bored, having been cast out of the house by mother, who complained that we didn't spend much time together any more. It was easy to see why. James, whose only interest was in collecting dead things -such as a rather horrifying ensemble of bugs- was a stark contrast to me, who spent half her life in the library. Not that many of the books made either much sense or were particularly interesting. I merely went there because my sisters bored me with their endless chatter of the next village fair or dance.

Therefore, when we were supposed to be acting kindly towards each other, James and I were instead lobbing the tennis ball at each other's heads, hoping we could knock the other out. It was sibling rivalry at its finest, and I was thoroughly enjoying it.

After more than a few minutes, my aim had drastically worsened. I ditched the tennis ball at James's head. He had no need to duck, and the ball went soaring over him, landing in a tree. James turned to me angrily.

"Stupid!"

"Forgive me, I was aiming for your face!"

We glared at each other before I broke off to look at the tennis ball. There was no possibility of reaching it, for it was too high up. It was much of a mystery as to how I had managed to throw it up so high in the first place.

"We could get a ladder." I said hopefully. James shook his head.

"Not one that reached that high."

"We could throw another object at it."

"You would get _that _stuck as well."

I frowned, annoyed at the insult.

"Then there are no more options. We'll have to leave it there."

James sighed.

"You are so stupid! How is it you managed such a thing in the first place?"

I continued to frown at my brother's impudent manner. I may throw tennis balls at his head but at least I didn't insult him. "It's really a miracle at all that y-"

"Be _quiet _for once in your life, James." I snapped. A peculiar fizzing sensation was running down my fingers, and it greatly annoyed me. So did my brother's voice. A breath of wind pulled at my hair. I pushed back the strand angrily. The sudden breeze tugged at James's clothes. The wind picked up a few twigs and twirled them up into the air. The tingling in my fingers got worse and I examined them. Nothing _looked_ wrong.

Where had the wind come from, anyway? It had been still up until a few seconds ago.

"James…" I said uneasily. I looked around. The wind was only around _us_, and the tree. Everywhere else, nothing moved. Nothing stirred. "James, I don't like this." I looked at my brother, but he was staring upwards. I followed his gaze and felt as if my stomach had dropped. The tennis ball was no longer stuck in the branches of the tree, but drifting slowly down, down towards me. It floated down and as I held out my hand it settled itself in my palm. The wind dropped off immediately. It was as if the strange occurrence had never happened.

Suddenly, it was as if my brain was a tinderbox and a flame had just been struck. I realized what had just happened, what _I _had just done. I dropped the ball and stepped back, reeling from shock. I looked at James, and my horror was reflected in his face.

"I didn't-" I began, but he shook his head.

"No, Elisabeth."

"Don't-"

"I'll have to-"

"Don't!"

"tell F-"

"DON'T!"

"-ather."

The icy tingle was spreading down my fingers again, and I recognised it for what it was. Power. Magic. Unnatural. Dangerous.

To me and the people around me.

"I'll have to tell him, Elisabeth! You have brought this upon yourself!" James shouted, fear in his eyes. I trembled and shook my head slowly.

"Don't." I said slowly. "I'll curse you." James flinched and I felt immediately guilty. I wasn't at all sure I _could_ curse him, but my memory was taking me back two years ago.

The stinking cell.

The ghost.

The fear.

Hunger, thirst.

Terror.

I couldn't go back to that.

James looked at the ground.

"Fine. I'll leave father out of it." he paused. "Just don't curse me."

I nodded, though my heart was pounding. Thankfully, the magic had left me. I forced my numb lips to move.

"I wish to go inside."

James was still staring at me and I shouldered roughly past him, into the house. The servants looked at me curiously but I made no explanation for my odd behaviour, instead heading up to the library. I lost myself amongst the weathered and yellowed pages, the thick, leather-bound covers. Time passed. Shadows grew. I lit candle after candle, little pools of orange light dotting the library tables. Someone entered the library -it must have been quite late by now- followed by another set of footsteps. Two people, then. They appeared at the end of the isle, and even though the light from my candles didn't reach them, I knew who they were. I stood up.

"Father." I whispered, "Do not send me to the cell again."

"Elisabeth." He said, his voice cold with every trace of warmth disappeared. "I warned you not to do witchcraft in this house. You didn't listen."

"Father-"

"You shall be punished."

I waited. I couldn't run, not here. To use my magic would only get me into deeper trouble. "The cell."

I closed my eyes. Magic pulsed down my fingers, but I forced it to stop. James stood behind Father, shifting uncomfortably. I glared at him, trying to express my hate without screaming at him. He had told Father! My brother, the traitor, didn't meet my eye. He turned away, pretending as if the horror story being played out in front of him wasn't happening. Somehow, this was worse than the prospect of being locked up in a cell.

James did nothing.

That was the second time I was locked up. I later found out I had been there for two months.

But there was worse to come.

Oh, far worse.


End file.
